By These Hands
by dosei no otohime
Summary: The real world and that of the surreal begin to mix as several twisted murders are commited. A madman shatters the line that once seperated them both, all in his mission to destroy the lives of two loved vampire children... and whoever gets in his way.
1. -Prologue-

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Disclaimer – I did not kill that Elmo. I repeat, I did not… *ahem* but I don't own Gundam Wing either. It belongs to all those big giant agencies that make as much money as Bill Gates and are scarier than any Negaverse monster. So here is my disclaimer… that is all. Also, this fan fiction is Anne Rice inspired. But it will not include her characters or references to her characters. 

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Content – Action, cursing, violence, plenty of blood, a little religion stuff, Relena is **NOT** Milliardo's sister in this fan fiction. Some fluff ***warning*** there's some shounen ai… There are no definite couplings at this time. Though the might kiss, there will be **NO hentai**. I refuse to mark my fan fiction with such a thing as highly-detailed sex scenes… 

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By These Hands

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Prologue

He looked down at the substance clinging to his hands. It was deep red, like the rose, so much like the rose. It smelled sweet, like a rose. Was it the pooling form of the flower? Had the petals melted like so many candles against the heat of their skin and then been brought inside them? The rose symbolized love in their culture…

Then, if it was liquid roses, was blood a type of love also?

But it could not be. Love was eternal, and, did he not, leave once it was over? Blood was passion, a lust, and nothing more than that. 

He dropped the young girl in the alley, as if she were of garbage and not fairness. She had amaryllis lips, eyes of deep ocean and hair woven of chocolate strands. But he had robbed her of her blushing cheeks and spirited movements. He grunted. _Let Milliardo deal with this one_, he thought. Milliardo deserved it. He actually kept love, held it, as if it were behind the thin glass of a snow globe. It was those two children of ancients. They both held eyes that were the color of topaz gems and hair of the forbidden sun. They were both beautiful. He narrowed his eyes. Why did Milliardo hold love in those hands? Why couldn't he? He held her, but she was not a mold of love. Then he turned, cape swirling around his ankles like the closing curtain of a theater. His act of the night was finished. He chuckled. The police had already discovered his hate, his murder, lying in streets similar to the one he walked this night. Had it been seven? Yes, it had been seven. A glorious seven. They had been the sweetest he had tasted in a long time. 

Then he looked up sharply, sensing movements in the shadows. _So the beautiful children come_, he thought, _let them come. Let them see what it is without the love they have always had._ Unconsciously, he touched the sheath at his side, held there by his thick belt. They would soon have their time and he would taste beauty as he held them both.

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	2. -Chapter 1: Wondering As We Were Wanderi...

By These Hands

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Chapter 1

The night cold burned ever so fiercely against ivory cheeks, but neither cared. Neither _could _care. They had been reckless, foolish. Hopefully, they would not have to pay for their sins. Only he had seen her though, the girl whose fingers were feasts for the vermin that resided in the garbage piles that she was placed next to. He had hoped she was just a whore in a drunken stupor, who wouldn't know up from down and would be easily manipulated into thinking she was being kissed by her lover instead of being life for a being not human. But she was not any of what he thought. Her eyes saw nothing, her skin felt nothing and another life had been caught up in the web the city wound around every body, suffocating and bleeding her until life's breath was stolen from her mouth. Around her neck she bore a golden crucifix on a chain and a well covering black dress. A gasp was seen in the eyes that mirrored the Pacific and all its tides, a prayer barely applied to her lips. Could she have been a nun? She could have… but who would dare to kill such innocence that was the sender of God's word?

He had seen her, but both were seen by it. Both had seen what it wanted. And it had wanted them. 

It had wanted them bathed and dancing naked in their own blood. Their feet would stomp among the orange petals spread on the floor as they waltzed around in this morbid vampiric menagerie. It had desired to see their eyes roll back but continue their dance, pale and streaked with red from their carved throats. It had wanted to see the roses of the life's blood against the snow of their skin before they flopped lifelessly to the ground and it laughed. Then it would tire of their idle corpses and rip them apart before feeding their flesh to his hounds.

And because of this passionate desire to see them die, they had run. 

The darkness spread around their bodies and the night air pulled gently on them and a wind swept up the alley, as if it were chuckling melodically whilst it tested the faith they held in their system. The wind placed slick magnolia leaves beneath their heels and garbage in front of their kicking legs. And it was that winter wind that was bound to doom them both.

Breaths poured out in bursts of mist as they rounded the corner. Soft Oxford shoes made a steady pattern as both galloped through a shield of night from the raging behind them, laces swatting the ground with welting force. Suddenly, she gasped out in alarm, stopping like she was pulled back by a ghost's ribbon. A fence between properties blocked the swift exit they had anticipated. They stood stock still, her body trembling like dry maple leaves, and his…

Both heads snapped to the side when they heard the pounding of padded paws against the city's concrete. Behind it were the sirens of the slick cars who had found the girl and then, enveloped in all the chaos, was the dark man's laughter that echoed down passages and up stairwells but had yet to be heard by human ears. In a fit of fear, she covered her ears and let out a long wail, primal on all accounts. She howled like Lucifer himself possessed her, until he grabbed her satiny collar and slapped her quickly, and hard, on her snowy cheek, causing a print of crimson to mark her pretty face. He looked deep into her face, not wanting to, but absorbing her thoughts. The visions of a thousand deaths entered his mind's eye. They moved like a red eyed black stallion through his mind, one with heavy hooves, ready to crush the bone of any being that came in it's dooming path. 

"Do you want to be a fool?!"

His words frightened those azure eyes, increasing the panic caused by their pursuers, and so he released her roughly. This was not his fashion, but he was forced to be hard as she fluttered in her frailty. Still, she began to crumble. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her quick. "You will not fall victim to this, understand me?" he whispered through gritted teeth, hair of tawny color falling into his eyes as he jarred her. She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat named Horror.

He let his grip on her frame disintegrate and he went first, over the fence, its chain links rattling in the hurricane force of fear that was held beneath his skin. He knew she could feel it, touch it more than he could know. It was as if it were tangible. 

The top of their obstacle was lined with barbed wire, put there by a man who hated the outside world, that brought blood through his thick pant legs and created long streaks of crimson on his unprotected hands. As his feet touched the ground on the other side, the barking suddenly grew louder. She let out a quick shriek and lost her grip on the fence, her dress catching on loose wires, holding her upside down. He took a step forward and she cried out in alarm. He considered leaving her, separating from her and driving the darkness into a state of confusion that would buy them some time. But he could see them, her visions of what would come if he did. He could see the complete horror in her eyes as the scene of her flesh being torn away from her filled her mind and erupted over into his. The hounds would bite at her with foaming jowls and gleaming teeth, tearing away flesh, clothing and life in one movement of their vise-like jaws. 

The crimson image sent fear to his heart and he tore at the skirt and fence that held her. He knew his master loved her so, as did he, so he could not endure leaving her with the canines of the Reaper at their heels. He bent the metal chain links, snapped them, and tore through them, feeling their snagging ends push through his skin and find the muscle within. He grimaced, but pressed his thoughts towards freeing her. Blood flowed freely, though it had the appearance of quick tar. "Come on!" he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her down, ripping half her dress in this process, and through the ebony air. 

He glanced back to reassure himself that they were taking the path to safety. Instead he saw the pack of dogs had separated into two lines and seemed to be as soldiers, standing at attention in the presence of their leader. A shadow leaped down from the roof of a nearby building, approaching them in a way of liquid. It stopped at the end of the line, hovering a few inches above the ground. 

"You see it now, don't you?! You have no love!"

The dogs howled in a ravenous frenzy as the words were bellowed through the night, like a chorus of obsidian devils. A black gloved hand pointed at the two. "You do not hold love! You will never hold it!" the blackened creature shouted at them. "Shut up!" he shouted, stepping forward in a threatening motion. The being threw back its head and began laughing maniacally. He stared at it. '_What or who could this mad thing be?'_ he thought. Then it lowered its head and he could feel the eyes of this daemon boring into the both of them. "Who are you?!" he demanded of the shadow. It just chuckled and began its earlier path. 

"Hurry!" he shouted and began pulling at her again. He was not worried of their path any longer. The thing behind them continued to follow, no matter the twists and turns they took. It was to a risk that he was taking them, but it was needed. If they couldn't avoid the beasts that scurried along highways and streets, then how could they survive the red hands of evil? Into the speeding traffic they went, in desperation. The wall of sound interrupted his mind, nearly breaking it. It would affect him, but would it hurt the thing behind them? He pulled her up as he just upon the roof of a small car. She cried out as the breaking vehicles nearly hit her. He just forced harder on her hand, rushing her through. When they reached the end, he twisted around, gasping in breaths and exhaling steam.

The form walked slowly out into the busy street, still laughing as it calmly avoided each vehicle. Then, suddenly, the dark shape was covered in headlights. It drew a hand to its face, blinded by the headlights. The lights belonged to the hulking form of a city bus. Before it had a chance to move, the shape was sucked under the wheels of this large form of transportation. A distinct thump was heard as the being fell victim to the spinning wheels and the bus squealed to a stop. The driver cursed as other cars swerved around his vehicle. He opened the door, trying to calm a squealing old woman as he exited. As soon as he was outside the great shining shell, he bent over, trying to see under his tires. After a minute, he stood up, mumbling something of deer and their stupidity. The shadow was gone, or dead. 

Still, they could hear the raving laughter, breaking open from all around, seeping into their ears. 

She wrapped her arms around him, staring out into the darkness, almost waiting for the evil to close its lips around them and swallow them whole. "Quatre…?" she said quietly. He placed a warm hand on her head, pulling it down and stroking her hair, leaving a trail of scarlet for his wounds had yet to seal. Never had she trembled so much when he held her in his encirclement of arms, except for this moment. "Shhh…" he comforted, kissing her forehead. "It was nothing, Relena. No one. If this had been any kind of threat, he would have promptly taken care of it," he said. She just whimpered, her fear fading with the wind, blowing onto another soul who would also be changed by these actions of the night.

The way back to their home was quick, and the nightly chatter of animals and the hum of cicadas and chirp of crickets assured them of their safety. No one hurtful could find them here, a place they had lived for nearly seventy years. It stood high among the trees, clawing and raking its nails across the moon with its Gothic archways and tall black fences. 

"Are we nearly there Quatre?" she said quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder as he supported her. "Yes," he said with a smile. For the first time in years, his body ached. It had pulsated in fear, and that hurt him after living so long in peace. But he saw the white fountain in the darkness, heard its rushing waters and was relieved. "We can rest here for a minute, the house isn't far," he said setting her down on the smoothed marble, barely wet with the spray of the fountain. Quatre bent down beside her, cupping his hands and bringing up a bit of water. He held out a lock of her hair, and let the water run down it. He hoped to wash his blood from her. It would be an ugly reminder to wake up to. He submerged his hands again and rubbed his wet fingers on the delicate skin of her hands and face. "Don't worry, Relena. Everything will be okay," he said as he washed away the dark lines of scratches and the smudges of his blood. She smiled faintly at his words, then fell against his supporting limbs. His heart almost leapt, but he knew she had just fainted. He then picked her up, carrying her small form with ease towards the towering shadow they knew as home. 

The door opening was not a quiet sound and neither was its closing, but his footsteps were soft. "Quatre…" came a deep voice rough bass that was a sound of pebbles crunching beneath shoes but was gentle despite its texture. Quatre stopped and stood there. The door to his right was barely open, revealing the only light in the room as the rays of the moon. "Pardon me, while I take Relena to her bed. She is very tired," he said. There was a moment of pure silence in the house before the voice once again came through the open door. "Very well," it said. Quatre turned and made his way up the stairs, towards Relena's room. 

He closed Relena's door quietly, being careful with the noise of the tumblers against the silence of the house. Then he went back down the stairs, slowly approaching the door before opening it. He stood there, taking on the scene in front of him.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. Milliardo, his master, always sat in the moonlight before sleeping as the sun rose outside the thick black curtains. He was dressed in his finest clothes. Black coat, with a lace frock and some of the stark white shirt coming out from the sleeves of the coat and nearly covering his knuckles. Quatre cocked his head to the side at this manner, a thing that was, in truth, out of order from most nights. His usual garments were his bedclothes. "Good evening Father," Quatre said, leaning against the frame of the doorway.

Milliardo's nostrils flared around the edges, just enough to be seen. He frowned. "You bleed, Quatre," he said. Quatre bowed his head, remembering that he had failed to cleanse his hands thoroughly in the fountain near their home. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. Milliardo turned towards him, finally opening his eyes to the young boy. "Why do you call me 'sir'? Have I shamed you? You were never below me, Quatre. We are of equals. Come," he said, gesturing. Quatre hesitated before he approached his master. He had great respect for the man who had changed him, made him what he was, but Milliardo was growing old. Madness would soon come, and what would happen? Would he turn into a shell of nothingness, or swing his hand out against the ones he called his children in unexplained rage?

Quatre kneeled in front of his master, looking up into those cobalt eyes. Milliardo leaned forward, taking Quatre's face in his hands. "You tremble, my angel. Whatever is the matter? What could've happened that would have driven Relena to slumber so early and break you so hard?" he asked, his touch like that of a blossom's petals. Quatre faltered. Should he tell what had happened? Should he tell the truth? 

"You should always tell the truth, my angel," Milliardo said, a twinge of smile coming to his mouth and his fingers brushing gently Quatre's blonde hair. "Someone came for us tonight, Milliardo. They approached with much force, sir…" Quatre stopped at the last word for it caused Milliardo's features to shake. His face grew warm and he pulled Quatre's face to his knee. "The world is full of dangers, my angel, and I am afraid I have never taught you this. But do not…" the old master's words faded off. Quatre stared into the darkness, waiting for more words, for a moment before twisting his head from the embrace of his master's hands and looking up. Milliardo's eyes were closed and his breathing deeper than a few moments before. Quatre pulled himself up, walking towards the curtains to close them before the dawn came to claim his second father and oldest friend.

From a distance, a strange figure was perched in a tree. Long chocolate hair flowed in the wind, but she never minded it. A sword rested on her thigh, ready to be used upon a trespasser of her serenity. She narrowed her eyes as the voices of inside the great house swirled round her ears. These words disturbed her. She feared she would have to condemn this family. "Beware, dear ones, for the Angel brings the burden of death," she whispered to the wind, quickly disappearing as white hands fearfully opened a curtain to view the night. 

– I know, I know. A bit short for the avid reader's tastes, but hey, I'm just getting started. Have no worries Heero, Treize, Wufei, and Trowa and the girls' fans! The other characters will be hopping along soon. And if you think it's a bit dark and you hope there will be lighter moments, then stop hoping. Because this fic will stay just as dark as this, though not as filled with violence as the chapter you have just conquered. 

~Hotaru J, Dosei no Otohime


	3. -Chapter 2: Pathway of Tears-

By These Hands

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Chapter 2

The morning wasn't as quiet as noisy as it could have been, but, as the sun's fingers warmed and lit the windows, the building heard the life outside the walls. Morning buses were missed, because the driver always ran five minutes ahead of everyone's clocks. People busied themselves with many things, but not much in the vicinity of the building. The bass rumble of engines inside the slick shells of vehicles slid through every crack in the building, but not a soul that was regular became agitated at its constancy.

He drummed his fingers on his well-furnished oak desk. Each pattern of five was a reflection of the one previous, until the mood of the officer changed within his mind. His face, though, remained with its inherited solid, stoned features. Slender eyes did not flaunt weakness, but, instead, pushed malice towards anyone that didn't know him well. His hand slid into the hollow between cheekbone and jaw. His elbow found a resting place on top of the files he had pulled out. He sighed. Sometimes, arriving early to work wasn't a benefit. You always received the bad news earlier this way.

And he had.

The report sat on his desk, unopened and unread in its khaki colored folder. It was a new report on the case that he had been assigned, but it would bare no fresh information. Another body had been found, another woman killed in the night. It had been a hard case. There were no witnesses to any of the murders. None of the women killed knew each other or had any social ties. He sighed. The case was getting nowhere. They had no leads.

The door to his office opened, revealing the tall figure of his partner. "Early again, Wufei?" was all he said as he delivered the steaming coffee he had been concealing under the brown sleeve of a well-worn jacket. Wufei stared at the styrofoam cup he held before taking a long drink and replying. "Just couldn't sleep," he said, finally looking up at his partner, "It's disturbing."

He watched as the man brushed his hair out of one eye. Wufei remembered with a flick of a smile the uproar he had caused and the trouble they held with him and his refusal to cut the abrupt thing. The recruiter for SWAT had especially thrown a fit about it, since his partner was very cunning in the situations they faced through their duty. Wufei thought his partner had been the only one who dared to cross him. He had watched the scene unfold savagely as a simple refusal was uttered and the recruiter's face turned the shade of a ripe tomato and he had as much ability to pop as a birthday balloon.

Green eyes settled on the files, registering the new one with a disapproving gaze. "Another body, but no atom of evidence to go with it, right?" he said before draining the last bit of coffee from his cup. He stared into the empty thing. _God, I don't need coffee. With a case like this, I need this filled with straight vodka,_ he thought and threw the cup in the trashcan beside Wufei's desk. Wufei pulled his head up from his hand and shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Barton. I haven't looked at it yet. I figure I don't have to," he said. Trowa closed his eyes and shrugged also. He walked over to the window, parting a space between the blinds. "I don't know who's doing all this, but it seems to bring us many visitors," he watched the members of the press badger approaching officers, "Jesus, it's like herding chickens," he said, dropping the blind and letting his fingers slide into his pocket. While he had been watching the fowl and their flock, Wufei had opened the new file. He flipped through the papers, scanning them only, because the information wasn't ever new. "It was a girl, like the rest. She was nearly twenty, like the rest. I'm afraid this is getting old, Trowa," Wufei grumbled, flipping the sleeve between his fingers as if deciding on whether or not to close it. "That's getting old, and so are you. Do you feel the aching knees yet, Chang?" Trowa asked with a wicked smile. Wufei looked at his partner, raising both his sharp, charcoal sketched eyebrows at the comment. "Trowa, I'm barely twenty-seven," he said. Trowa chuckled. "All the more closer to fifty," he cracked. Wufei rolled his eyes skyward and continued to read the file. 

"Adrianna Maxwell. She was nineteen years old… blood was drained, like the rest…" Wufei sighed, skipping over the information pertaining to the case. Trowa peered over his partner's shoulder, hand snaking out to grab his coffee. Wufei raised his hand and slapped Trowa's stealing fingers. Trowa bit his lip and shook his hand to relieve the stinging on his skin. Wufei snickered then took his cup and moved it to the opposite side of his desk. Trowa leaned over, his head resting on his partner's shoulder, much to Wufei's aggravation. "She has blue eyes. I like blue eyes," Trowa muttered and secretly tried to take the coffee from the other side. Wufei saw through this and moved his coffee back to its original place. "Soooo… she worked at the old Maxwell Church," Trowa said, trying to press to him that he was actually reading the file, when he wasn't. Wufei knew the situation and, again, moved the cup of coffee to in front of him, where he could see it… and where Barton couldn't lay his hands on it. 

Trowa frowned, and then his face lit up as an idea occurred to him. He took on a look of seriousness and actually began scanning the file. He took a step back and raised his arms above his head. _Here goes_, he thought and quickly leaned forward, pushing Wufei's head down and leaning over his partner's shoulders, grabbing the coffee. Wufei cried out in surprise and because of the fact that his coffee was being taken. Trowa jumped off Wufei's back and quickly raised the cup to his lips to gulp it down. He did, and then his eyes became wide… just as Wufei stood up to interrupt the consumption of his coffee. Suddenly, Trowa opened his mouth and spit coffee out. "That's freaking hot!" he exclaimed. Then he saw Wufei's angry face… dripping with hot coffee. He pulled a hand to his face, wiped off the steaming liquid, and stared at his saturated hand before turning his gaze towards Barton. "Trowa… tell me something…" he said, calmly.

"What Chang?"

"Why didn't you just go outside? The coffee machine is right outside our door."

Trowa frowned. "Of course. I know that. I just didn't want you eating my cream cheese Danishes while I was gone," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Wufei rolled his second time eyes for the in five minutes. "You and your pastries…" he muttered. He sighed and sat down. A frown creased itself across his lips and he put a very wet hand to his forehead. Trowa cocked his head to the side. _What's up with him?_ he thought for a moment. Then he put his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, sorry, man. Didn't know it would upset you that much," he said. Wufei remained silent for a moment before he spoke. He put his hand down on his desk, letting it rest on the opened file. A little coffee was getting on the report, seeping in, but he didn't seem to care about it. "It's not you. It's just strange, I can't sleep… just can't close my eyes because that bastard's still out there and we have no way of finding out who is doing this…" he said, shaking his head. "The case is just getting under your skin, that's all. Shake it off," he advised the other man. Wufei shook his head. "Not as easy as you think, Barton. It makes me…" he trailed off, still shaking his head. Emerald orbs settled on the man of Chinese descent. Trowa knew Chang well, he knew he wasn't about to admit that he feared one of the evils they sought to rake from society. "Look, I know what you're worried about. But don't, because Meiran is fine. Your baby daughter is fine. They are safe," Trowa said. He saw Wufei was staring down at the file still. "Don't bring yourself down to this, Chang. The man will be caught, if not by us then by someone else. He's bound to screw up _sometime_ and get himself caught…"

This time Trowa's partner actually moved. "And he already has…" he whispered, holding up two tiny plastic baggies. He turned to his partner with a grin. "They found something… two hairs…" he glanced down at the report. "Lab says they're not the same," he said, his brow furrowing, "it must be a mistake though. We'll have to look at it later." Wufei turned back to the file, reading with interest this time. 

Trowa leaned over, trying to read the report this time. "The next of kin is listed as Duo Max– oh shit, not _that_ kid again…" Trowa grumbled. Wufei turned towards Barton and raised his eyebrows for the second time in twenty minutes. "Okay, the name's new to me," Wufei crossed his arms in front of his chest and closed his eyes, "fill me in, Barton," he said. "Son of some priest, but I swear he's the spawn of Satan. He has the quickest lips with an acrid tongue. I think he sharpens it every night or something. We've had our run-ins before, though I could never arrest him," Trowa said. Wufei opened one eye. "Why not?" he asked. It was Trowa's turn to roll his eyes. "Chang, if there was a law against sarcasm, I'd be on Death Row," he cracked. "No lie there," Wufei admitted. There was silence between the two.

"So, we going to go?" Trowa asked. 

Wufei stood. "We'd better, or we'll have Chief on our asses again." Trowa harrumphed. "Yes, Chief Howard! Whatever you say, Chief Howard! Sure we'll jump off the Empire State Building for you Chief Howard!" he cracked, picking up his jacket again. Wufei stared at him. "I really didn't think he was serious when that was our assignment," he opened the door to his office and stepped out, "He gave it to us on April Fool's day for God's sake! How could he expect us to take it seriously?"

"True. Who's driving?"

"I am."

"Well, I'm glad I didn't eat breakfast then."

"Barton. Words of advice for you: zip it."

Trowa held up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay," he mumbled and the two started down the hall to the parking lot.

They pulled up in front of the tall church, steeple stretching as high as it could into the clouds. "So that's the Maxwell Church?" Wufei said as he opened the door to the car and stepped out, keeping his eyes on the length of the church. Trowa smiled. "Yep, my old beat when I was a rookie," he said with remembrance of easy work in his voice, "C'mon. I'll introduce you to Father Maxwell." 

"The girl's father?"

"Nah, her uncle. He took the kids in after the parents were killed in some automobile accident."

Wufei looked over at his partner. "So you knew the girl and her family?" he asked, nearly sympathetic. Trowa shook his head. "I knew the uncle and I knew the boy, and only by the occasional wave or hard time I was given, depending on who I was talking to. The girl was usually off at boarding school," he said. They stepped up to the double doors and opened them. They parted with creaking hinges sounding their cry along hallows of the church. 

The church was lit with candles, ribbons of light reflecting off polished benches and pulpit. Lights hung like simpler chandeliers to light the path right up to the front pew. Through the stained windows came streamed of tinted morning light, in rough images portraying the Saints. On the walls were paintings of the Blessed Mother and behind the pulpit was the wooden sculpture of Christ on a crucifix to recreate that day when Heaven was supposed to cry. 

"Nice place," Wufei said. The windows were new, so was the crucifix carving. He wasn't used to seeing it, and hadn't truly seen it since he had married Meiran, who fully practiced Buddhism. They agreed that religion was one's own journey, not that of his family or spouse. They practiced their own religion on their own hours. And, after Naomi was born, Wufei stopped giving up his free time to the church, and, instead, gave it up to being a father. He was a ghost to this place.

Then he saw a figure coming out from a backroom. "Father Maxwell?" Trowa called out. But the voice that answered was not the vocals of the soft voiced pastor that Trowa had known before.

"Not unless I'm a daddy, pigs! Besides, do I look like a decrepit geezer who reads the Bible 'til his eyes bleed him to death?"

Then the form scampered away, sounding its way up the steps like an elephant in a raging charge. Trowa followed the sounds until he heard the final creak of the top step, like it had always been. A harsh and angry hand was slammed onto the keys of an organ. The organ groaned and bellowed out its pain from the youngster's striking it.

"Congratulations Chang."

Wufei raised an eyebrow and blinked at his partner. "And why am I receiving this?" he asked.

"You were the only one, besides myself, to see the soft and gentle side of Duo Maxwell… and live."

"You call that soft and gentle?!"

Trowa shrugged, his coat shuffling with the movement of his shoulders. "Let's just say that I wouldn't challenge the kid to a pissing off contest, if ya know what I mean. He could insult you to the moon and back," he said. Another figure came, following the path of the teenager.

"Duo?" it called.

Trowa smiled. It was Father Maxwell, the aging blue eyed pastor that he wished to speak to. The wrinkled form came closer to the policemen. He squinted at the two, making a thing blue line out of his irises. "Have you seen my nephew?" he asked. His voice wasn't soft when approaching the two men, but it was a voice strong enough to bring friendship to the two gentlemen he spoke to. 

"Duo went upstairs." Wufei said.

Father Maxwell nodded his head, then smiled a little, as if Duo's going upstairs was a game r some sort of joke. "Is that why Bessie the Organ bellowed so loud?" he said with a chuckle. Then he took a long look into Trowa's face. "You used to be a policeman here. Ah, you're that Barton boy," he said with a newer smile on his lips. Trowa's face was faltered with a small frown. "I'm hardly a boy now, Father Maxwell," he said.

"Ah, yes, yes. It has been forever since I've seen you anyway," the pastor sat down in the front pew with a sigh, "You're a detective now, I know. And you're here about… about Adrianna, aren't you?" 

"Yes."

Father Maxwell sighed. "All right, if this helps catch the devil-induced person who did this, I'll answer anything. What do you want to know?"

As if on cue, Wufei whipped out a miniature spiral notebook and the stub of a pencil, which had been sharpened with a pocketknife and obviously used many times before this instance. 

"Did you hear from Adrianna before she was murdered?" Trowa began the interview. The old man flinched at the detective's last word. "Yes, she was here, in fact. She was leaving to meet a friend. She left at about 7 o'clock that night."

"Who is this friend?"

"Some boy she was trying to talk to about drug abuse or that whatnot. Herman or something like that. I can't remember exactly. He was very depressed about things."

"Can you describe him?"

"Yeah, a short fellow. I'm not sure of his age, but he looked young. Brown hair, blue eyes… I think. I've never spoken directly to the boy."

"Did she have any enemies? Anybody that might harm her?"

Father Maxwell furiously shook his head, as if he were a dog trying to clean itself of water after a good soaking. "No, no. There was no one like that," he said. Trowa looked over his shoulder at Wufei, who was scribbling in his notebook like he was feverishly mad. Then he stopped suddenly, putting the notebook in his pocket. Trowa looked down at the priest. "May we speak to Duo?" he asked. Maxwell shook his head again, not as hard this time. "Duo told me he was going up to his room so he could rest. The loss has been hard on the poor boy…" he answered. Trowa's face folded with sympathy for the man and boy's grief. "We'll try as hard as we can to find the horrible person that did this to your niece," he said, putting a comforting hand onto the shoulder of the older man. "Please do that. She was so innocent to this world. She…" his words trailed off. Trowa rose to leave, just to let the man cry his tears in peace. 

"Work hard, Trowa. The Lord gives you His blessing," the man said as they turned to leave. 

"Thank you. Goodbye Father."

"Goodbye Mr. Barton."

The two walked across the lawn towards their car. Trowa looked at Chang.

"So you think this Herman kid might've done it?" he said.

"Maybe. A depressed drug-pusher could pull anything, even on a sympathetic hand." 

"Ain't that the truth?"

The two police officers heard the doors to the church open again, but paid no attention until the person at the door spoke words. 

"Sirs?"

Chang turned first, and spoke first to that older nun that was standing there. "Yes Sister?" he said to her. 

She stood there a moment, faltering as a wind blew around her figure. Her lips appeared to shake instead of stutter, like she feared the words that were about to come forth from her own mouth.

"There's evil at work here," she finally said.

The policemen looked at her for a moment. The autumn leaves tumbled on the ground around their feet, performing somersault after somersault on the lawn. It was Trowa who spoke. 

"Yes ma'am. One of the worst evils is at work here. Good day, Sister," he said and turned away from the house of God. Then they left in their car. 

Remember when I said it would be just as dark? Well, forget it. I'm keeping these wisecracking slurpies on the job… Trowa and Wufei the policemen FOREVER! I decided to lighten it up just a little, because Trowa's a jokester. These guys are not the shounen ai I was talking about at the beginning, either. Mr. Wu-man is married, got a kid and the lil cheese-head is HAPPY! Trowa… I dunno… he's just weird. The next chapter will be better. It will be dark. This thing already reeks of angst. 


	4. -Chapter 3: Do No Denial-

By These Hands

****

Chapter 3

The boy was lost. He was lost in his own home and crying into a pillow that might not hold any more tears. His shoulders shook and trembled as he sobbed, his hands clenched and knees drawn up to his chest. The pressure of his legs felt soft through his black cotton shirt. Without knowing he was doing it, he touched the crucifix that hung around his neck. It was cool to his fingertips, despite being worn every day for as long as he could remember. 

She was gone. Forever she was gone. 

Eyes defeated and brutalized with the natural salt, he let go of it. His face suddenly became lax, his hand becoming soft again. He rolled over onto his back, long braid flipping with him. He stared up at the ceiling with blank eyes, still gleaming violet with tears to be shed. He didn't see with his eyes anymore. They were useless to him without her. Adrianna, long pretty chestnut hair, such pretty hair that she had loved to brush twice a day in front of her mirror. Sometimes, when he was smaller, before they came here, she let him brush it for her, just so long as he didn't pull too hard. He was always gentle with the brush though. Her face would smooth out into a smile, and she would talk to him slowly, about nothing usually. But she would talk in her cream soda voice, smooth and sweet. And she would look at him through the mirror with such blue eyes. Those eyes that were shaded an unnatural turquoise. 

__

Their father's eyes.

Her eyes now…

He stared at his bedroom ceiling still. He saw that it needed painted, cracks or water stains starting to press through to the surface. Her face kept floating up in front of the ceiling, though, like a projector was fixed in cement holds to his brain, and it made him see visions of all those bright and happy times. That smiling face, hands holding onto his as they danced young and without foreseen rhythms to Christmas carols with jolly tunes. The toddlers in his memories didn't need to dance to the given beat. They had happiness. They had the snowflakes that melted on their rosy children cheeks. They had games of tag, and melting ice cream, and smiles. They had life.

__

"Merry Christmas, Duo!" 

The childish voice echoed on the ears of his mind, amid anxious giggles. The old image of the hand-made present drifted up. Smokie, the grey teddy bear that she had stitched together with her own hands since Mother had taught her to sew a month before. The fuzzy bear, looking up at Duo with purple glass eyes, had been wrapped in blue paper that had been striped with gold. How he had torn at the paper shell to find the velvet softness beneath! How he had embraced the bear with love and life-taking force! It had been nearly a decade since she had sewn up this gift of love for him.

But her hands would no longer stitch for him.

No…

No…

No. Adrianna wasn't gone. She was here. She's in the room across the hall, sitting on her chair, brushing the tangles from her hair again today. He called out to her. There was nothing. He drew himself up from his bed. It squeaked as he moved. Duo stepped across his room and opened the door, coming out into the narrow hallway between the rooms. He approached her door. "Adrianna…" he choked out, cracking open the door. The room was dark. Maybe she was tired, and she went to bed early. But when Duo switched on the light and light enveloped the room, he didn't see her sleeping form, warm and resting quietly under the blue comforter. He turned to her mirror, but it was absent of her image. Her long black dress wasn't hanging across the door of her closet like it should have been. _She's hiding from you again, Duo_. He thought this to himself. _Playing hide-n-seek like you used to do._ Is it April 1st yet, Adrianna? Haha, nice joke. Come out now.

Come out now, Adrianna.

Adrianna. 

Duo lay on his back on her bed, waiting patiently for her to answer from some hidden place in the room, smile spread on his lips. He waited for her to sneeze in the dust of the closet, sneeze and ease his mind. He waited for her to come bounding up the stairs, ready to share secrets of her years advantage over him. She would ask why his eyes were like they were. She would call him such a silly boy for worrying so much and believing the lies they had told her dear brother and their uncle. 

But there was nothing but silence in this house.

The minute he waited became two, then three. Then ten.

Adrianna?

Nothing came. His chest tightened and he bit his lip to try to prevent it. He tried to ball it up into his heart, keep it there in a shallow grave. He held his breath and waited for the worst worry to pass. He didn't want to understand the horror here. 

He cried out suddenly, knowing that no one could hear him. Even in this House of God, no one could hear him. 

No! No! Nononononono!

The tears came out again, pouring like they had before. He howled out his anguish, pulling the blanket tight against his chest, then whimpered his pain. Surely, she would scold him for going into her room, even though he was too old for scolding. She would complain that she had made up the bed this morning, and that it shouldn't be a mess before she crawled into it that night with tired eyes. He wrapped it around his shoulders and lay on her bed, crying the silent tears that fell over the bridge of his nose and into his other eye. He kept them both on the door as he wept.

Adrianna, come out and play.

Adrianna, you're all I have left. 

Mama and Papa are gone now, big sissy.

Adrianna…

ADRIANNA!!

Duo stared at the door with unblinking eyes. It seemed to mock him with its dark ribbons etched into the golden oak. Slowly, then quick, the tiny string of hope sewn to his heart, the one that wanted his sister to burst through that door to scold and then nag him and comfort him, became unraveled. Never before did he feel like a child, and so alone like a child would be. 

It was as if someone had cut off his braid, stripped him of such a precious thing, and he would keep reaching up to swat it away or feel the ghost of it falling against the small of his back and past his hips. But, it wasn't like his hair. Hair always grew back. Adrianna was…

Slowly, he rose from her bed, sniffling and taking her blanket with him. It drug along the ground, catching every so often on knots in the wood. _She deserves my snot and splinters all through her covers_, he thought bitterly. He had surrendered here, in her room. He made a slow walk through the two doorways, through the empty hallway. Once he came to his own room again, he gazed at it, pulling the blanket tighter around him. It seemed so old, so white and quiet. He dropped his eyes, before it struck him like a whip. Then he went to the closet, faster in pace, shoving his hand past the hanging pant legs on the door and slowly turned the brass knob. The door stuck a little, but it opened. He was on his knees and pushed aside his clothing to look through to the bottom, forgetting the blanket for a moment now.

He shoved aside shoes and socks franticly. He had to find it! Had to! He threw out the contents of the small closet, piling them in a lump of hazard in the floor. His breath was fast now as he penetrated the darkness again and again with his anxious shaking hands. Then he dove to the very back, blanket falling down his back and onto his bent knees, and he felt the softness, the very thing he sought. He pulled it forth from the darkness and into the light.

He smiled down at the soft thing with a glimmer of happiness coming into his eyes. The purple eyes stared at each other that moment.

"Smokie, you never left me. Let's wait for Adri, 'K Smokie?" he said, his voicing sounding so small and child-like that it nearly made him jerk with fright. But he hugged the teddy nonetheless. He reached back to pull the cover back over his shoulders and then crawled on his knees towards the window.

The sun was going down in a daily blood-bathed death outside his window. The sky was on fire. Orange and red melted together over the trees, the big-leafed magnolias, and houses of the town. Somehow, Duo expected a chorus of cellos or violins to strike up a chord and follow the sun down. But nothing came but his own breathing. There was no symphony for the sun.

And there, as he watched the sun go down and the glow begin to fade, he felt the dark wings of sorrows unfold and wrap around his soul. 

"Adrianna…" he whispered into the stretching shadows, fingering the dusty velvet ear of the bear between his index finger and thumb. The motion was repeated over and over. The fingers paced back and forth on the soft ear. He felt himself nodding, but he didn't want to sleep. He was waiting for his big sister to come home. If he waited long enough, she would come home to him and Uncle. The policemen wouldn't come back to break his heart again. 

But soon he slumped over, head falling against the deep breathing chest, cheek falling against the crucifix.

His sister did not come.


End file.
